


Push And Pull Like Magnets Do

by BriaMaria



Series: Divide [2]
Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: Body Worship, Dancing, Grinding, M/M, Strangers
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-01-20
Updated: 2017-01-20
Packaged: 2018-09-18 17:16:48
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,457
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9395330
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BriaMaria/pseuds/BriaMaria
Summary: There was no one else in the room. No one else that existed in the reality that was between them. By the time Harry reached out shaking fingertips to touch, to curl around the hips of the boy, he’d forgotten there was such a thing as other people. His entire world was narrowed down to this. To soft brown hair, and crystal blue eyes, caramel skin and laughing lips that tipped up, always, at the corners.





	

**Author's Note:**

> Ummm ... I was feeling bad for Shape of You, since I did a Castle on the Hill fic. This is just a little drabble, but in case you were in a Divide mood I'm posting it, too. xox

The bar had no dance floor. Of course it didn’t - they weren’t at one of the clubs Niall so loved dragging Harry to. Instead Harry had convinced his reluctant roommate to try the hole-in-the wall that smelled like stale smoke and served up questionable bowls of peanut mix. Harry kind of loved it. The two gruff bartenders, with their tattoos and beards; the darkness in the corners that let lovers escape into shadows; the sticky floor that bespoke nights of cheers-ing with cheap beers; the vibe that locals really knew you here. All of it, he liked all of it. But what he loved the most was the bop that just dropped on the old school jukebox in the corner. He’d been eyeing it since they’d walked through the door, drawn to the neon, but too nervous to set the tone for the whole joint. He was too new to the place, you know. So he’d sipped his mojito (the one the bartender had grimaced at when he’d ordered) and watched as brave soul after brave soul slipped quarters into the machine. 

But then the opening notes of Satisfaction cut through the buzz of low conversation that lingered in the air of the barroom. No, there was no dance floor, but honestly it would be criminal not to dance to Satisfaction. And the boy who just chose the song must think so too. 

The boy. The boy. Harry had been watching him all night. He was energy and light and happiness and laughter in a compact body that somehow curved into some kind of obscene “s”. The way his ass filled out his tight black jeans, the way his t-shirt bunched over the curve there just slightly, the way his waist nipped in -- Harry wanted to worship his body. And now he’d gone and put on Satisfaction and Harry was done for.  


Especially when he threw a laughing look over his shoulder directly at Harry. The very breath he was about to take caught in his esophagus at that glance. There was a promise there. Dark and hungry. Intimate almost, even though they were strangers across a crowded room. 

The boy turned fully and crooked a finger at Harry as Mick’s voice cried out “hey, hey, hey” and by the last syllable, Harry was on his feet. Drawn like a magnate to this boy. To his body.

There was no one else in the room. No one else that existed in the reality that was between them. By the time Harry reached out shaking fingertips to touch, to curl around the hips of the boy, he’d forgotten there was such a thing as other people. His entire world was narrowed down to this. To soft brown hair, and crystal blue eyes, caramel skin and laughing lips that tipped up, always, at the corners.  


The light caught the boy’s white t-shirt, turning it almost transparent and Harry wanted to cry over the shape of him. He wanted to let his tongue slide along the curves, the let his teeth nip at the dusky nipples that hardened beneath Harry’s gaze, to mouth over the collarbones that were more shadow than anything at the moment. Instead he gripped those hips -- god those hips -- tighter and pulled the boy against his own long body. They fit. Maybe they shouldn’t seeing as he was all limbs and torso and this boy was soft and luscious, but they did.

So they made their own dance floor. They stood in the small space at the edge of the table and swayed against each other, not caring if anyone was watching. The boy snaked a hand around Harry’s neck and stood on tip-toes, every centimeter of him pressing against every centimeter of Harry.

“I try, and I try,” he murmured-sung into Harry’s ear, his tongue dipping into the sensitive curve of it. Harry groaned, his hips twitching against the boy’s as he caught Harry’s lobe between gentle teeth.

“Fuckkk,” Harry groaned into the boy’s neck. “Name,” he stuttered out. He wanted to know. He needed to know. “What’s your name, baby?”

The boy swiveled those hips against Harry, so that their semi-hard cocks brushed against each other. Harry’s teeth sunk into the flesh of the boy’s neck. “I’m Louis,” the boy answered, his tongue still exploring delicate skin.

“Harry,” he chocked out, his hands finally -- god, finally -- daring to travel down below the waistband of Louis’ jeans. He’d waited until they’d been introduced, that was good enough right? Once he let himself cup Louis ass, though, he knew it was a mistake. Because he’d never be able to give this up.

His fingers dug into the flesh there, as Louis ground their cocks together. They’d both passed the somewhat interested phase, and gone on to the hard as hell stage, and Harry could barely stand the friction when he had an armful of hot, sexy boy in his arms.  


Then, all of a sudden Louis was pulling away. Harry whimpered. He immediately missed the warmth of him, the feel of him, the weight of him against his body. It wasn’t long until it was back, though. Louis had just spun around so that ass -- god that ass -- was pressing back into Harry’s groin.

It was everything Harry ever wanted. If he died right there in corner of the room of this shitty bar as the Rolling Stones blared on, he would die happy. Because the softness of those curves pressed against him was heaven. And sin, at the same time. Because oh my god, he wanted to bend Louis over in front of everyone and sink into his tight, warm body.

Instead, he let his fingertips trail over the bones of hips until they settled on his tummy. Then he flattened his palm there, drawing that ridiculous body so tight up against his own there was no space between them. Which was good. Because that space, the air in between them, it would be on fire, anyway. With one hand, Harry kept Louis steady as he ground back against Harry in little figure-eights that were driving him wild. The other hand explored.

It played over Louis’ ribcage, tweaked at his nipples (eliciting his first moan from those lips), dipped just beneath the button of his jeans. Harry paused there and let them pulse against each other, let them breathe, let them anticipate. And then he slipped his hand further down beneath the tight fabric. Louis’ belly sucked in beneath his palm as Harry’s other hand gently grazed the base of his shaft.  


“I’m in love with your body,” Harry whispered against the hot, sweaty skin of Louis’ neck. “I’m in love with the shape of you.”

Louis panted and pressed back, but Harry didn’t move his fingers at all. Just let them soak in the warmth of Louis’ skin. Harry’s lungs were heavy, his limbs were unsteady, his heart was butterflying against his chest. He’d never felt this kind of need before. It coursed through his blood, it made his head dizzy so that he couldn’t think past want and desire and mineminemine.  


It was when he felt Louis’ fingertips flutter over the back of his neck that Harry broke. Louis had been reaching up, getting better leverage, to let their bodies work against each other, and Harry whited out. They needed to be in bed in private right now. Right this goddman second.

“I want my bed to smell like you,” Harry murmured, inhaling Louis’ intoxicating scent. It was citrus and sweat and sex and Louis. Harry would never forget it. He would be haunted by it probably, long after Louis left his bed.

The second Louis nodded, his lips searching Harry’s for a hot, wet kiss, Harry stepped away. He didn’t waste time searching out Niall -- who fucking cared really, Niall was a big boy -- he just grabbed Louis’ hand and started for the door. He was vaguely aware that he was dragging the boy, but he was also vaguely aware that Louis was skipping in his desire to keep up.

When the fresh air hit their damp, trembling bodies they turned into each other, seeking each other’s heat again. Lips sought lips, tongues tangled, fingers dug into flesh. By the time they fell into the cab they were both straining against the other’s body.

“Come on, baby, come on,” Louis said in that raspy voice of his Harry already couldn’t get enough of as he straddled Harry’s lap, mindless of the driver.

As Harry palmed Louis’ ass, bringing their cocks together once again in a sweet, tortuous rhythm, he thought of the argument he’d made to Niall earlier in the night.  


The club really wasn’t the best place to find a lover.


End file.
